Why
by The Eccentric Poet
Summary: Another modern retelling, but with a little twist! ErikChristine, of course. Could this strange voice in the mind be a lonely young girl's own Angel of Music?


**AN: I own nothing from Phantom of the Opera (even though the thought of owning Erik is pretty darn cool). Some music here is directly from that production; other has been either based off of said songs and modified or independently written- by me- for this fiction. All characters here are modeled after the characters of the original musical. As for version, this is based off of the 2004 ALW Movie, since it's all I've seen. Don't throw bananas (or penguins, for that matter!) and I promise I'll be a good little girl and buy the book some day. As for reviews- I welcome them- as long as they aren't flames, I am open to advice! I may even do like other authors here- you know, give a little blurb at the beginning of each update to answer questions and the like. As for updates... Can't promise every day. Or even every week. They'll come as... inspiration strikes. Hope I don't keep any readers too bothered by my sporadic tendencies! And now, for our featured presentation: "Why".

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**Chapter One: A Pitch Too Low, a Song Too Strange**

I knew there was something wrong, but I could not tell quite what. I had walked in the room alone, and there had been no one else there, but... I _felt_ someone.

"Silly, Christine, that's what you are." I pushed such thoughts to the back of my mind and took a long, even breath to begin my scale exercises. Satisfied that I had gotten high enough to get the last note of my latest vocal endeavor, I began singing the song: _Think of Me_.

_Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye  
Remember me once in a while please promise me you'll try  
When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free  
If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me... _

I closed my eyes, blocking off the sea of black marks on the sheet music before me. I could sing this without it.

_We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea  
But if you can still remember, stop and think of me_

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen  
Don't think about the way things might have been... _

Will there ever be someone who thinks of me like that?

_Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned  
Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind  
Recall those days. Look back on all those times. Think of the things we'll never do  
There will never be a day when I won't think of you..._

Someone _I_'ll love so much it hurts to say goodbye? Or is the only person who could be like that already gone?

_Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade. _

_They have their season, so do we. _

_But please promise me that sometimes,_

_You will think _

I steeled my stomach and took in an even breath, my voice strengthening through the scaling _ah_'s that came next.

_of... me!_

I polished off the last note and listened as it bounced off the concrete walls, before opening my eyes again to the dim light. I studied the room I had chosen for the time. Plain, concrete walls painted off white, as was most of this building. The room was temperate, but after singing I was glad that my long, russet-brown curls were tied back off my face. If you stood at the door, two chairs, a broken music stand, and a small table were to one side, a file cabinet and my bookbag, along with my music portfolio to the other, and a wall-mounted full length mirror sat in the middle of the wall opposite. I couldn't see it's practical purpose, other than to allow a musician to self-correct posture, or- _in Carlotta's _case, I thought- to primp and admire oneself. At least it did make the little square room bigger. The dimming fluorescent light at the ceiling did barely enough to light the room properly.

"Now... to tune, and then again." I talk to myself often- it's my way of reassuring myself that I was actually there, and a concrete way of reminding myself to stay on task. My tuner was still in my pocket; I retrieved it and listened to the even, synthetic tone and matched my voice to the first note of the song.

"Darnit! I thought I had it, too."

I'd been singing the song a whole pitch lower than it should have been sung. Looking back I remember thinking the last bit of the _ah_'s- from the last "of"- had come a bit easier than past times, but I credited it to practice. I now- miserably- knew exactly where to credit it. I couldn't help myself... tears welled up in my eyes and the room blurred, and then—

"_Christine..._"

My eyes snapped open. I had barely formed a word on my lips when I heard... _it_... again.

"_Child of the light_

_Why are you weeping?_

_An Angel sheds tears for you._

"_Wipe off the past_

_In tears that haunt you_

_Sing for your Angel._"

I sat down hard; my breath did not want to come. I felt dizzy, and then, before the room had spun even twice, unforgiving blackness overcame me.

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There. Not too bad for a first effort, I hope! Remember, show the love, and leave a review!

Erik: Indeed! She likes reviews!  
Me: -_groan_- Great, now I have my own little CommentErik, too.  
Erik: -_Un-Erik-like smirk_- Uh-huh.  
Me: -_dies of smirkness_-  
Erik: -_pokes_- "..."  
Me: -_squeal_- I got poked by Erik! pounce-glomp-huggle  
Erik: -_squeak_- 'Elp!


End file.
